Topsy Turvy
by Exwhyzed
Summary: Boromir has returned from the dead, but finds that Middle earth has been overrun with reversed slash clichés in his absence! The horror! The horror!


**Disclaimer:** The following characters and situations are based on those created by J.R.R. Tolkien. I own nothing, and am not making any money out of this. (You think I could actually profit from _this_?)

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Topsy Turvy

With some difficulty Boromir cracked his eyes open, and was immediately dazzled by the rays of the midday sun. 'Nnnrrgh,' he murmured, sitting up with effort. He appeared to be in the middle of the Pelennor Fields, and in the distance the city of Minas Tirith stood proud against the mountains.

'What … the …' muttered Boromir, baffled by his sudden return to corporeality. He was supposed to be dead, damnit! Why had he been sent back? Perhaps his assistance was needed in the War of the Ring. Yes, that must be it, he thought, unaware he had really been resurrected to bear witness to a bad slash parody.

Staggering to his feet, Boromir stumbled off in the direction of Minas Tirith. At least his father and brother would be pleased to see him.

As he trudged forward, the White City with its many levels loomed closer, and Boromir became aware of a sense of foreboding. He could not comprehend why this was so. After all, he should be overjoyed to see his beloved citadel again! But before Boromir could further reflect he was distracted by the sound of someone weeping girlishly.

He spun around and lo, there was Aragorn and the Elf, Legolas! How could he have not seen them before? And on closer inspection, why was Aragorn sobbing into his comrade's chest?

'Oh Legolas,' Aragorn simpered. 'Whatever shall I do? Arwen has rejected me; my life has no purpose anymore!'

'Never fear, my sweet,' Legolas replied. His voice sounded deeper and more manly than Boromir remembered. 'I am here for you in your hour of need. The Lady Arwen does not deserve you! Casting you aside simply because - why did she dump you, again?'

'I _told_ you - she said I was too young for her, and she needed someone older and wiser - and she'd found him! Curse that Treebeard!'

Legolas continued to cradle Aragorn to his chest, whispering sweet Elvish nothings into the Dúnadan's ear. 'How about I _comfort_ you, poppet?'

'Al-alright,' Aragorn stammered, his face all blotchy and snotty from crying. 'But I'm so ugly! How could you want me like this?'

'There are none more beautiful than you in this world, my darling,' said Legolas calmly. He then proceeded to - er - console the Ranger.

Boromir had seen enough. He turned in the disgust from the terrible twosome, and continued on his way to Minas Tirith. Since when was Aragorn son of Arathorn a weepy uke? Since when was Legolas a consoler of ukes? Boromir was baffled. On the bright side, he was getting used to having legs again, and was able to hasten his step a good deal. He didn't know how he was going to report this to his father. Probably no one would believe him. And Arwen and Treebeard? Where did _that_ come from? And what about Sauron? Wasn't everyone supposed to be at war with him?

'And what is _that_?' Boromir said aloud. He could see a small figure on the horizon, pursued by many more larger ones. And they were getting closer …

'Oh, hi Boromir!' panted Gimli the Dwarf as he sprinted past. 'Sorry, but I can't stop now, the fangirls are after me!'

Several hundred screaming girls came rushing past after him, their cries of 'Squee!' , 'Kawaii!' and 'Gimli iz teh sexx0r!11!1' piercing the air. Boromir scratched his head, puzzled. Now _that _was odd. And weren't the fangirls supposed to be after Legolas? Boromir shuddered as the memory of his last encounter with the Elf and his … companion struck him full force. He had best get to Minas Tirith, and fast.

However he hadn't gone ten yards when he caught sight of someone else being pursued by a crazy mob. The figure appeared to be outrunning them though, and Boromir started as he caught sight of the stranger's many-coloured cloak.

'Saruman!' he gasped.

Saruman stopped in his tracks, a sneer forming on his pale face. 'So you've come gloat over my folly, have you?' he snarled.

'No, I was just wondering why -'

'Well brag all you want! It's not as though _you_ could have done better. After all, how was I to know that my creations would all lust after me?' Just then the sound of an Uruk-hai's roar echoed across the fields. 'I must be off!' cried Saruman, dashing away in the direction Gimli had run in just seconds earlier.

Boromir was at a loss. He stood gaping after Saruman for quite some time until a strange voice caught his attention.

'See, precious? Good Sméagol can frolic in the sun just like silly fat hobbit, yes, yes he can, precious...'

Boromir spun around again, and, seeing the source of the voice, immediately wished he hadn't. It was what must be the creature Gollum, skipping happily across the grass, holding hands with … Samwise Gamgee?

'I knew you'd appreciate taters and the like eventually,' said Sam, smiling placidly.

Boromir was beginning to get scared. Gazing up at the White City, he wondered what horrors might indeed be lurking there. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to go there, after all. But what else could he do? He'd be damned if he stayed out here in the wilderness with these … whatever they were. No, he must press on.

'Ah, Gríma, my most trusted councillor, do you know how precious you are to me?' said King Théoden of Rohan.

'Oh, you,' Gríma Wormtongue replied merrily from his position next to Théoden on a picnic mat.

Boromir hurried away from them, his right eye twitching uncontrollably. Dear Eru, what was going on? And what in Middle-earth were Rohirrim doing in Gondor? They weren't even at war with Mordor, from the looks of things. There wasn't an orc in sight. Even the black clouds hovering over the Mountains of Shadow seemed to have disappeared. What weird alternate dimension was he in?

Boromir ran without pause the rest of the way to Minas Tirith. He stopped only at the outer wall to catch his breath, and then only for a few seconds. He was hurrying inside when he knocked into someone and was thrown to the ground.

'Boromir, my son, you have returned to us!' said Denethor. He pulled Boromir to his feet and dusted him off. 'But alas,' the Steward said when he had finished, 'I cannot stay to greet you properly. That blasted wizard will stop at nothing to supplant me! He seeks to drive me out of my City by means of that lecherous halfling! Look! There he is now!'

To Boromir's great surprise (and horror) Peregrin Took came scampering out of the citadel, clutching a bouquet of flowers in his little hands. 'Lord Denethor!' he cried. 'Why do you run from me? Look, I got you roses!'

Denethor cast him a look of unadulterated terror and made to flee, but Boromir dealt with the problem by whacking the hobbit on the head with flat side of his sword. Pippin collapsed immediately, knocked out cold.

'There, easy,' Boromir said, sheathing his sword. He wondered why Denethor hadn't thought to do that himself, but once again further contemplation was forestalled by -

'FATHER! WHERE ARE YOU, YOU WORTHLESS TWIT!' Denethor paled, and moments later Faramir came charging out of the citadel. He took no notice of Boromir and, seeing Denethor, marched right up to him and said, 'Now where do you think you're going, you pitiful excuse for a steward? You didn't think you could escape me, now, did you?' He grasped Denethor's arm and leered in a way that made everyone in the vicinity feel very uncomfortable.

'Nay!' cried Denethor, wrenching his arm away. 'I will not let you violate me again!'

It was Boromir's turn to pale. '_What_!' he exclaimed, but no one seemed to hear him.

'You ungrateful little …' Faramir was shaking with rage. 'You will be punished!'

Denethor took this opportunity to sprint madly in the direction of Mordor.

'HOW DARE YOU!' Faramir bellowed. 'YOU ARE NO FATHER OF MINE! NOW COME BACK HERE SO I CAN HAVE MY WAY WITH YOU!'

Boromir would have reprimanded his brother for this, but he was occupied with being sick on a nearby patch of dandelions.

Suddenly Faramir became aware of Boromir's presence. He scowled. 'You! Oh great, now you're back I'll never be Steward! Unless I kill you,' he said, scratching his chin thoughtfully. 'And then I can have my wicked way with you, too …'

'Hey, Father, wait for me!' Boromir yelled before he bolted.

The End

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Congratulations! You have reached the end of this abominable story! Have a cookie!

Here's my, ahem, reason for writing this: Having noticed many well-used plot devices are really losing their shine, I decided to make fun of them in this ingenious (or not) parody. A good few of them aren't common pairings at all, but the fics that do portray them always seem to play out a certain way. Rest assured they _do_ all exist. Except Arwen/Treebeard, which I've never seen. ;) I might come back and edit this, or add more topsy turvy clichés, if I can think of any. We'll see.

Before I get flamed, I'd like people to know that I'm not bashing Faramir. That is all. ;) Please review!


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